Exceeds Expectations
by Toodleoo
Summary: Professor Severus Snape has exceedingly low expectations for the intelligence of his house's Quidditch players. They don't disappoint. As for Fred and George Weasley, however...


_A/N: Just Professor Snape, dealing with the idiots on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Set one year before Harry arrives at Hogwarts. My prompt was "blue balls."_

* * *

'What colour are Bludgers, typically?' Snape asked the idiots standing before him, all clutching their leather Quidditch trousers as they twitched and danced in place. One of the fuckwits was still holding the cobalt balls in his arms. _That one was Something-or-other Warrington_ , Severus mused, pleased that academic propriety kept him from ever needing to learn any of the little darlings' given names.

'Black, sir,' another of them said, two hands firmly planted on his groin.

'Yessssss,' the man hissed, setting down the stack of essays he'd been grading. So far, he'd doled out four Trolls, seven Dreadfuls, two Poors, and two Exceeds Expectations. 'Black. Designed to exacting specifications, they happen to be black because they are made of a type of iron designed to injure your opponent when they land.'

The lads squirmed under Snape's gaze, and What's-his-name Blishwick squatted-rather gingerly, Snape noted-in order to set the unorthodox Bludgers on the ground.

'In all your collective years of Quidditch practise,' Snape continued, drumming his fingers along the edge of his mahogany desk, 'how many times have the Bludgers-or the Snitch or the Quaffle, for that matter-transformed like a chameleon or the leaves of autumn, changing their traditional hues?'

This was met with a shake of seven heads.

'Oh?' Snape drawled. 'Never?' He tutted. 'My, my... And yet you all deemed it a wise decision to pluck these bright blue balls from the Slytherin Quidditch chest and begin practise per usual without even a cursory examination for spells or charms?'

A few of them coughed.

'Convenient, isn't it, that your practise was derailed during the week preceding your championship match against the Gryffindor team?' Snape asked. _Gods, they would never learn._ He craned his neck over the edge of his desk and shook his head at the balls sitting on the stone floor. 'Not even the knowledge that your opponents might be coming after you was enough to encourage a second glance at these monstrosities?'

At least they had the decency to look embarrassed. _Now if only they had more than half a brain to share amongst the whole team_ , Snape thought. Of course, his expectations for Quidditch players were low. They been the half-witted sods who had tormented bookish students like himself when he was a student. He shouldn't have been surprised, really. Simple fools, the whole lot of them. Funny how they were always the least observant and focussed of his students.

 _Almost always_ , that is. His two most creative students were athletes as well, but they were notable exceptions to the Quidditch Player Rule. Of course, Snape was never going to acknowledge their brilliance openly, although he'd just awarded them the two E's in the papers he'd been correcting. That was as high as Snape would ever go. Students with their arrogance didn't need coddling, and they were Gryffindor second years to boot.

'Please, sir,' Blah-blah-blah Fairley pleaded, 'can't you do something to help us? Anything?' He leaned forward to whisper, his cheeks pink. 'Sir, they're _actually_ blue. And they hurt like hell.'

Snape leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers together as though he were deep in thought. And he was, but it wasn't what the students were thinking. No, Severus Snape wasn't dreaming up remedies to save them from their present distress.

Instead, he was considering what he knew of Messers Fred and George Weasley and what was clearly their handiwork before him.

 _Blue balls, indeed._ Severus snorted aloud. _Clever work._

Fourteen cow eyes were glued to Snape's face, full of stupid hope. A flick of his wand could have cured things right up for the boys, but would that actually teach them anything?

Snape plastered a disappointed look on his features. 'I'm afraid,' he said, his voice solemn, 'there is nothing that can be done. You are just going to have to wait it out.'

As the seven Quidditch players waddled out of his office in misery, Snape pulled out his red ink and the two best essays. He scritched small plus signs after the E's shining up at him from the papers.

 _Just this once_ , he thought. _Just this once._

:

 _Fin._


End file.
